


The Last Time

by renchan



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, M/M, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renchan/pseuds/renchan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor was gone, but he would never be forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Time

Dorian had never been a man who believed in miracles.

  
His mind was firmly grounded in science and theories and he did not consider himself religious. He wanted to believe, yes, but that wasn’t the same as going to the Chantry and praying. He did not pray to the Maker before the final battle, did not attempt to call Andraste for her assistance. The only man he believed in was Auden Trevelyan, and he told him as much the moment he first met him. He truly believed that he was the Herald of Andraste, that he would defeat Corypheus and save the world.

  
That was why it was so strange that he had been so hopeful before it happened. He was a scientific man, he was a pessimist, and yet he truly believed that the battle would end and he would kiss Auden and go home, back to Skyhold. They would have a small celebration, get incredibly drunk, and run up the stairs together, grins on their faces, and curl up in bed together. He would rest his head on his chest and listen to his strong heartbeat, knowing that it would be a sound that he would hear forever, now that the main threat had been eliminated. He could nearly taste it, and he had dreamt of it often.

  
Dorian was aware of an incredible pain.

  
His eyes slowly fluttered open and it took him a minute or two to regain his bearings. He was aware that he was laying on rubble, that he was on the ground, and that his head was aching terribly. He was alone. He couldn’t quite remember where he was or why he was there, until finally, it all hit him. Corypheus had been slain, but—  
Auden.

  
The colour drained from his face as the memory of Auden being impaled through the chest finally reached him. He felt as though he were going to be ill, but he swallowed the bile and forced himself to a stand. Apparently a rock had hit him in the head and knocked him out, if the blood trickling down his temple was any indication. He did not care about that right now. He needed to find him. Auden had been nearly fatally wounded before, and he was the Herald of Andraste, for Maker’s sake, he needed to be alive.  
The mage took a moment to look around. Everything was destroyed, he stood in the middle of what used to be the battlefield, and he was alone. He was bleeding. His clothes were ripped. Where were his companions? Where was Auden? He limped around the area, looking, until he swore he heard a voice.

  
“Over here.”

  
His eyes lit up and he knew that it was his Amatus, that he was alive, and so he followed where he thought the voice had come from. He rounded the corner, jumping over rubble, doing his best not to trip and knock himself out again. He needed to find him. He might need treatment, and he needed to kiss him.

  
“Dorian.”

  
It wasn’t him.

  
Cole was crouched down next to the lifeless body of the Inquisitor, of his Auden, and he was crying. He had never seen the spirit look so upset before, he had never seen him cry, for that matter. He felt numb. He wasn’t entirely sure if Cole was speaking, but his lips were moving. He heard a rushing in his ears and he fell to his knees beside Auden’s body, his Auden, the man who was so filled with life. His eyes were closed, and there was a smile on his face. He didn’t realize that he was sobbing until his throat began to ache and he wrapped his arms around Auden, covered in the man’s blood, but not caring.

  
“Auden, Auden, Auden!” He shouted, shaking him. The man did not move, the smile did not fade. Auden was well and truly gone. He refused to let go of him and he thought he heard Cole’s voice, he thought he heard the sound of other people gathering, he thought he heard other choked sobs. But no one else mattered. Dorian Pavus was far too blinded by his own grief, and he buried his face into Auden’s (now cooling) neck. The man would never be warm again. He would never feel his arms around him, he would never see his goofy smile ever again. It hit him in a rush and he opened his mouth and began to scream.

  
Strong arms wrapped around him but they weren’t the ones he was looking for. He felt fur against his cheek and Dorian wrapped his arms around him anyway, sobbing, still screaming, and everything went black.

  
-  
The funeral was two days later.

  
The halls of Skyhold were silent. Corypheus had been defeated, but no one was particularly in the mood to celebrate. Cullen had to physically knock Dorian out in order to take him away from Auden’s body, and the man was given milk of the poppy in order to ease his pain. It was far better to keep the altus asleep, rather than allow him to go through the pain of losing the man he loved. No one quite knew what to do without the stable presence of Auden, and even Cole said that Dorian was beyond his help. “If I touch him, he’ll break,” he explained, giving a sad little smile, tears welling in his eyes. “I can’t break him.”

  
Eventually Dorian was roused and the man was certainly not the man who smiled and joked about. He barely spoke, the light had gone out of his eyes, and he barely took care of himself. Varric did his absolute best to help him clean-up for the funeral, telling him stories in an attempt to get him to laugh. Maybe it was inappropriate, but he was a story-teller – it was the only thing he could possibly do.

  
The ceremony was quite large. It was decided that they would give Auden a traditional burial by the lake – his body placed inside of a boat and surrounded by candles. The Inquisition’s army would do the honor of firing the flaming arrows. A statue was to be erected in his honor – Josephine’s idea, though the poor woman could barely stop herself from crying long enough to do her duties. This, however, she explained, was important. It needed to be done right.

  
Thousands of people had shown up to pay their respects to the Inquisitor. Villagers who the Inquisitor had helped in some way, from the man whose wife had been incredibly sick to the man who Auden placed flowers by his dead wife’s grave, all to the blacksmith who had been there from the very beginning. Scout Harding was inconsolable, as were much of the army men themselves. Even the doctor shed a few tears and it was her who had the honor of dressing up the body – though everyone decided that Auden would be placed in his best armor, surrounded by flowers. Make-up was put on to give the impression of life in his face, and when Dorian looked at it, he burst into horrible sobs once more.  
It was far too difficult to look at him, thinking that he was sleeping.

  
Auden was placed into the boat and nearly everyone attending either lit a candle, or placed a flower. The companions and the Advisors, of course, were the closest to the body. Sera couldn’t stop herself from crying, murmuring about stupid Inquisitors not being able to keep themselves alive like they should, and Krem had his arms around The Iron Bull, who shed tears silently. His shoulders were slouched.

  
Nearly everyone spoke, speaking of great tales of the Inquisitor saving their families, or simply smiling at him and giving a kind word. Some of the stories were funny (Mainly Varric’s, though tears started running down his cheeks halfway through and he held up a hand and had to return to his seat), most of them were demonstrating the pride they felt in knowing someone so utterly amazing. Dorian could not say a word, and he did not care if it were selfish. He’d said his goodbyes in private.

  
“Does anyone want to say something else?” Cullen had taken the reigns, as Commander of the Inquisition. He had the only dry eyes, but they were red-rimmed, and it was clear he had done his crying before the service. He stood tall and strong, a beacon of hope for all – a sign that the Inquisition was not disbanded, that it was still strong.

  
“I do.”

  
Thousands of pairs of eyes flickered to Cole. The spirit stood up, making his way with an awkward gait to the body of the Inquisitor. He knelt down and brushed his hair from his forehead, frowning a little.

  
“A warm fireplace, a tanned face holding a familiar book. He looks up and smiles at me. Yes…I want to see him one last time. I love him so much.”

  
Dorian immediately jerked up, staring at him, wide-eyed. His heart hurt. It was the first thing he had felt in days. Auden’s last thoughts had been of him, and he had been unconscious and could not say goodbye. He started to cry again silently, his throat feeling far too raw for anything more. The companions – every single one of them, including Cole – gathered around him, standing close, shielding him from the pain. They were one, at that moment, and all knew it.

  
The Inquisitor was gone, but would never be forgotten.


End file.
